Wondering Why
by Commander
Summary: Elizabeth Swann wonders why she's done the things she's done... and why she feels the way she feels. Dead Man's Chest SPOILERS! One shot.


(AN: Hi, name's Commander. Say, was Dead Man's Chest the most awesome movie ever, or _what? _I mean, you know it's awesome when I, someone who only writes fanfiction for cartoons (and the occasional Muppety-goodness) am inspired to write a one-shot.

This is quite different from anything I've ever written, and not just because of the live-action human being subject matter. It's very short, there's no dialogue and told in third person, and the only punctuation marks are periods, commas, and dashes. No semi-colons, which I seem to be fond of, and even no exclamation points or question marks. I'd be lying if I said it was a challenge to write, however. It was certainly different, but not at all hard to write. This came to me last night when I saw the movie for the first time, and was cemented in place after seeing it a second time today with my parents. All I had to do was write it.

I should probably mention that I've liked this pairing since the first movie, and when I saw the trailers for this one, I thought, "Holy crap, are Jack and Elizabeth about to kiss?" I thought I was seeing things. I was happily mistaken! I always had a special soft spot for these two, but now I fear it's a full-blown obsession.

Well, enough blabbing. Enjoy the fic, and please leave a comment—compliment, critique, whatever! I love feedback.)

O.o.O

Elizabeth Swann sat unmoving, frozen as a statue, hardly able to breathe, hardly able to cry, yet cry she did.

She wondered why Jack Sparrow had rescued her in the first place, the first time they ever met. It was not exactly in a pirate's character to be heroic for anyone, especially for someone he didn't even know. Jack was no exception. And yet save her he did. If it weren't for him, she would have been dead months ago.

She wondered why she felt guilty about what she had done.

Leaving Jack to be taken and killed was the only way that anyone could be safe. Elizabeth had seen this clearly, and Jack had seen it clearly too, she suspected. He hadn't offered any argument to her actions. She had done what she had to.

She probably did not even have to chain him up. True, he had a habit of utter self-preservation, but he had actually returned to his ship, when it was in certain and dire peril. He, like Elizabeth, had seen that this was the only way.

She wondered why he had returned.

Self-preservation was the entire driving force behind everything he'd ever done. Save his skin from this, use Will to bargain for that, while he watched from a safe place. Jack Sparrow simply couldn't be trusted to help anyone at any time.

She wondered why she had trusted him.

No, that one was obvious. Because she had known—or at the very least, desperately hoped—that he was actually a good man.

She wondered why she had hoped so much that he was.

Never during this whole adventure had he shown that he really cared about how Elizabeth and Will fared. The two of them had shown up desperate for his help, and he had taken advantage of it—to no avail. He was dead now.

And it served him right. He had kept digging himself deeper and deeper into trouble. He couldn't have possibly gotten himself out of it, even if he had lived. No matter what had happened, he couldn't have lived anywhere. He was simply in too much trouble. If Davy Jones's beast hadn't gotten him, the British Navy would have.

She wondered why she cared that he was gone.

He was selfish, often rude, and appallingly unclean. He probably hadn't taken a bath in ten years. His hands were smeared with dirt, and other things probably far worse. His breath smelled almost like algae.

She wondered why, despite all that, she hadn't pulled away when they were close.

The first time it had been a test. At least that's what she kept telling herself. To see if he would give into the temptation to take her, a woman promised to be married to another man. He hadn't. But he had gotten close. And when those filthy hands touched her face, and that rancid breath was right in her face, Elizabeth had not pulled back. She didn't have to fight an urge to pull back, for there was none. Jack had been right about her—she was curious. She wanted to know what his kiss would be like.

She wondered why she found him attractive.

There was nothing appealing about a grimy pirate only concerned with his own interests. Nothing whatsoever. She had to keep telling herself that. But it was harder and harder to convince herself.

Perhaps it was because he was completely different from any man she had ever known. Those differences were definitely not positive ones, but they were different, and that seemed to be all that mattered. He was a free man. He could do whatever he wanted to. Elizabeth's longing for utter freedom had been very early repressed by society, but it was still there. And Jack Sparrow had awakened it in her.

She wondered why the compass kept pointing towards him.

She had absolutely no right to be thinking these things. She was betrothed to Will Turner. Will was everything anyone could ever want in a husband—brave, noble, caring, loyal, and handsome. And self-sacrificing. And clean.

But Jack Sparrow was self-sacrificing too. Well, in a way. Perhaps he wouldn't have stayed on the ship if Elizabeth hadn't chained him to it.

And yet, perhaps he would have.

She wondered why she had been able to leave him there.

Given the options, the choice was an obvious one. Between saving Jack Sparrow and saving everyone else, including Will—there was simply no question. Even if it had been just Will to save, she still would have done it.

She wondered why she was having doubts.

She was just as cold and calculating as he was, Elizabeth realized. The only difference was that she manipulated and threatened people to save Will. And herself. But Will first, definitely.

Perhaps.

Maybe.

She wondered why she had kissed him the way she had.

The kiss should have been cold and unfeeling. It was just supposed to distract him while she trapped him. While she condemned him to death.

No, it hadn't been her doing the condemning. He would have died anyway.

Maybe.

The kiss was only going to be long enough to get him trapped, but Elizabeth's mission had vanished from her mind as soon as she locked lips with him. It was a wonder she had remembered her mission at all. She forgot all about his lying, his deceit, his odor. All she knew was that her heart had never beaten so fast, her stomach had never been tied up in so many knots, her breath had never been so ragged. Not even with Will.

She felt that she would have gladly stayed there in his arms as the beast devoured them and the ship.

She wondered why she felt safe around him.

She had no guarantee whatsoever that he would do anything to protect her. In fact, all evidence she had was to the contrary—that he would put her in harm's way just to protect himself. And yet, when he had returned to the ship, holding that rifle, Elizabeth had felt like a terrified child whose mother had come to reassure her. That deceitful, swindling, often cowardly rogue should have put her off—and he often did. And yet she still trusted him. Even now.

She wondered why he had smiled at her like that when she chained him to the deck.

He had seen what she had seen. The monster was only after him. Once it got him, the whole mess would be over. He had known, Elizabeth was sure of this. But that smile was unlike anything she had ever seen from him. True, it had a healthy dose of his usual loopy smirk, but there was something else there too. Complete understanding. Sorrow. Affection.

Affection, dare she think it.

She wondered why she was in love with him.


End file.
